Page 2 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

L ord Jason Pemberton, the Earl of Pembroke, did not belong here.

The mirrored ballroom of Willoughby House glittered with the light of a thousand candles burning in the chandeliers that hung high above the ballroom. The air smelled of perfume and sweat and everywhere he looked he saw painted smiles hiding calculating eyes.

He should have been in his club. Or, better yet, at Pembroke Court, a hundred miles from London and all its conniving matrons and simpering innocents.

But here he was, smashed in among the lot of them. Not because he desired to be here. Never that.

He was here because he owed Chadwick.

Jason grimaced and adjusted his cuffs as he leaned against the nearest marble pillar, resolutely ignoring the flirtatious glances a bevy of young ladies sent his way.

He wasn’t here for them. He was here because his best friend, Henry Chadwick, had broken his bloody leg racing Jason’s bay gelding across Richmond Park three weeks ago, and in the haze of guilt that followed, Jason had muttered that if Chadwick needed anything— anything at all —he had only to name it.

And Chadwick had named it, God help him.

Keep an eye on Georgiana. Don’t let her do anything foolish. She keeps threatening to run off before her wedding. You know how she is.

But Jason didn’t know how she was.

He’d formally met Henry’s younger sister, Lady Georgiana, exactly once—at her come-out ball three Seasons ago, where she’d danced with him one time, flushed prettily, and then disappeared into the throng.

He remembered thinking she looked cleverer than most, with those shrewd brown eyes taking everything in.

But she was still just another debutante. And watching debutantes was the last thing in the world Jason wanted to do tonight. He cursed Chadwick’s luck and the bloody horse who’d thrown him for the thousandth time.

Jason scanned the ballroom, narrowing his eyes. No sign of Georgiana Chadwick.

His jaw flexed. Because of course. Of course she wouldn’t be easy to find.

With a muttered oath under his breath, he tugged at his gloves, pushed himself off the pillar, and began to move through the crowd.

You’re the last man alive who ought to be watching a young lady , his mind whispered unhelpfully.

And wasn’t that the truth?

If Evelyn were here—if she hadn’t?—

Jason’s chest went tight. He didn’t let himself finish the thought. He didn’t have to. He’d thought it a thousand times before. Evelyn should have been here tonight, standing among the most sought-after debutantes of the Season, smiling shyly as she searched for a husband.

But she wasn’t here.

Because of him.

His younger sister had died on his watch.

He straightened his shoulders, scowling as though the force of his glower could keep the memory at bay.

It couldn’t.

And that memory alone was reason enough that he should not— should not —be entrusted with anyone’s sister.

And yet here he stood, scanning the crowd for Chadwick’s.

He was fairly certain Georgiana wasn’t in the ballroom. Which meant he needed to expand his search. He strolled out the double doors into the corridor that led to the foyer.

The moment he stepped onto the polished marble floor, a flash of skirts caught his eye as the door to the retiring room opened, and out walked three young ladies. One dressed in pink. One in yellow. One in green.

Jason went still.

There she was. The one in pink.

Lady Georgiana, looking quite unlike the shy girl he remembered from three years ago. Her chin was lifted, her dark-brown eyes bright and alive with some secret mischief. Her cheeks were flushed—not with modesty, but with determination. She moved like a soldier advancing into enemy territory.

Beside her in the yellow gown was Lady Beatrix Winslow—the diamond of every Season, her golden hair and swanlike neck catching the candlelight as if she’d been born to command it.

She had what looked like a drawing pad tucked under her arm.

And on Georgiana’s other side, a red-haired young lady dressed in green who Jason didn’t recognize, though she carried herself with a sort of weary dignity that told him she didn’t want to be here either.

He studied Georgiana more closely.

It was subtle—clever, even—but he’d been in enough drawing rooms and military camps to know what plotting looked like.

She was up to something.

Jason rubbed a hand over his face.

Oh, excellent. He got to babysit that . Mischief in a pink gown? She was already halfway across the corridor.

Why couldn’t she just sit quietly like other young ladies? Chadwick had made it sound as if his sister simply needed a bit of a watchful eye, not a full military escort.

Jason’s gaze followed her as she parted ways with her companions and slipped down a side hall.

And that, he thought grimly, would be his cue.

He fell into step behind her, quickening his pace. He managed to keep a respectable distance without letting her slip out of sight.

You’d think , he told himself dryly, that if one were trying to avoid scandal, one wouldn’t march down dimly lit corridors alone at a ball.

Georgiana’s skirts swished briskly as she moved, her gloved hands clenched into determined little fists.

She had no idea he was behind her.

He followed her past a line of gilded sconces, down a narrower hall lined with ancestral portraits.

She glanced over her shoulder once, and he ducked smoothly into the shadow of a column, watching her with narrowed eyes.

This whole event was a farce. The marriage mart, he thought sourly, was an absurd exercise in futility. A grand, overwrought parade of fan-wielding girls and ambitious mothers, each pretending they weren’t scheming. He wanted no part of it. Never had.

He wasn’t here looking for a wife. Hell, he didn’t even want a wife.

If his parents’ marriage hadn’t already soured him on the notion, then Evelyn’s death had driven the lesson home: promises were brittle things. He’d promised to keep Evelyn safe, and she was dead. How could he ever promise the same to someone else?

So no, he didn’t dance attendance on innocents. He didn’t pay calls to drawing rooms, and he certainly didn’t haunt the ballrooms in search of some shy, fluttering bride.

He was here tonight for one reason and one reason only: because he owed Chadwick.

Nothing more.

He watched as Georgiana paused at the end of the hall, glanced around, and slipped through a door.

Jason followed her, stopping just shy of the door. He leaned against the wall and let his lips curve into a grim little smile.

Right.

So she thought she could simply disappear, did she?

He sighed, waited half a beat, then followed her in.

Inside was a small, empty antechamber lined with shelves of books and a potted palm. The faint scent of lemon wax lingered.

And there she was—Lady Georgiana—kneeling on the floor, fiddling with the latch of a floor-length window that opened to the gardens beyond.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her progress.

Grunting a little, she managed to get the window open and step upon the sill.

That’s when he made his move. He had to. She was only one step away from escaping into the night. He leaned forward, locked his forearm around her small waist, and pulled her back into the antechamber.

First, a gasp and then…

“Unhand me!” she demanded, trying to yank herself free. “This is none of your concern!”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” he said dryly, spinning her to face him. “Your brother asked me to keep an eye on you. And here you are, halfway out a window.”

She glanced up at him, and her demeanor changed for just a moment. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he wouldn’t have seen it. She clearly recognized him. And he’d mentioned her brother. Which had to be the only reason she wasn’t screaming bloody murder right now.

“Lord Pembroke.” She glared at him, cheeks hot. “You’re ruining everything!”

“I suspect that’s rather the point,” he drawled.

She yanked her arm from his grasp and smoothed her skirts with exaggerated dignity. “I am perfectly capable of seeing to myself. You needn’t play the knight errant.”

Oh, if she only knew how far from a knight he was.

Her lips tightened. “Besides, my brother has no right?—”

Jason blinked at her patiently. “Doesn’t he?”

Her arms snapped into place across her chest and she eyed him up and down, a look on her face that clearly said she now regarded him as the enemy. “You don’t know what it’s like.” Her words came through clenched teeth.

Jason’s mouth twisted. Oh, he knew all too well what it was like. To watch someone slip through your fingers and be powerless to stop it. But he suspected that was not what Lady Georgiana meant. And for some unknown reason, he actually wanted to hear her out.

He shut the door behind him with a soft click. “Try me,” he said quietly, stepping closer to her.

Georgiana allowed her arms to drop. She smoothed her skirts, then her hair, her chin lifting stubbornly.

“I have been auctioned off to the highest bidder,” she snapped.

“But I will not marry that… man .” She shuddered.

“And if my parents and my brother think they can force me to, then they’ll find themselves very much mistaken. ”

Jason raised an eyebrow. Who was she talking about? He hadn’t even thought to ask Henry who his sister was engaged to—and now he regretted it. “Who’s your fiancé?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he studied the color rising in her cheeks.

Her brows shot up as if the fact that he didn’t already know had surprised her. “The Marquess of Henderville,” she stated, her voice entirely flat.

Jason frowned, certain he must’ve misheard. “Henderville?” he echoed, disbelief threading through his voice.

“That’s right.” Her eyes flashed at him, fierce and defiant.

“But Henderville has to be nearly seventy,” Jason said, the furrow between his brows deepening with disbelief.

“He is,” she shot back. “Tell me, my lord. Would you want to marry him?”

Jason swallowed and dragged a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

Outwardly, he kept silent. Inwardly, he was shaking his head with vehemence.

No. Absolutely not. If he were a young, beautiful woman—hell, if he were any kind of woman—he wouldn’t want to marry Henderville.

The man was a cantankerous old bag of bones.

What on earth had possessed Henry’s father to agree to such a match?

Money? How much money? There wasn’t an amount on earth that would convince Jason to give Evelyn to such a man.

On the contrary, Evelyn would have had a sizable dowry.

Regardless, Georgiana Chadwick marrying Lord Henderville was utterly unthinkable.

Georgiana continued to eye him as if waiting for his answer. “Is Henderville here tonight?” he asked, steadfastly avoiding her original question.

“Yes, and that’s precisely why I’m leaving.” Her voice remained defiant.

Jason blew out a deep breath. For the first time that evening, a flicker of something strange stirred in his chest.

She reminded him of Evelyn. Fierce and stubborn and unwilling to be told what to do. Evelyn had never listened either.

But Evelyn hadn’t gotten her happy ending. Hell, she hadn’t even grown old enough to make her debut.

And if Jason had anything to say about it, Lady Georgiana wouldn’t share her fate. At least not on his watch. At least not tonight.

Jason scrubbed his hand over his jaw and winced. Damn it . He’d come here tonight to keep her from doing anything foolish. And it seemed she’d made his task impossible.

He was going to help her escape.